Bombshells Afterthoughts
by Huddy1987
Summary: This is an alternate ending to the episode Bombshells.  Huddy.


ALL DISCLAIMERS APPLY, I DON'T OWN HOUSE, ETC. XX

"I can do better," House promised, begging Cuddy not to leave. He could tell that he was losing her; that she had made up her mind to leave him. He _had_ to convince her not to do so.

"I'm sorry." The woman standing in front of him had lost her resolve. Lisa Cuddy was devoid of makeup, devoid of energy, devoid of the strength to continue to manage House's shortcomings.

"No, no no no. Don't." House began begging her before he even gave a second thought to his self-esteem. His usual tactics of sarcasm and deflection were replaced by complete and utter vulnerability. She _could_ _not_ leave him. Not his Cuddy. Their emotional ties ran too deep for their relationship to end.

Yet Cuddy _did _leave. She had given up on him. Given up on _them_. Cuddy—the best thing that had ever happened to House—had come and gone; their relationship had ended in a manner of months. Like he knew it would, deep down. He was constantly at war with that negative attitude.

Early on, Cuddy had accused House of holding back emotionally, of trying to sabotage the relationship. So slowly he had made himself more and more available, fooling himself into believing that Cuddy would be the exception to his rule. That she would be the one person, the one constant in his life, who would not leave him. But his theory that he was a miserable bastard who did not deserve happiness was once again proven correct as Cuddy turned her back on him in the threshold to his apartment.

Cuddy's exit left a shell of a man behind her. There was no other woman on earth that Gregory House was meant to be with besides Lisa Cuddy, and Lisa Cuddy could love no other man the way she loved House.

Tears began to flood her eyes as she stepped into the hallway. It had taken every ounce of her composure to keep the moisture from overflowing from her eyes until she was away from House's probing gaze.

Still in disbelief, House stepped through the threshold to his apartment, watching Cuddy leave, as if it were happening in slow motion. He wished that he had taken more than just one goddamn Vicodin; that this was just a hallucination. That Cuddy was not saying farewell to all they had worked towards as a couple. She made him a worse doctor, yes, but a better, happier man.

House saw Cuddy pause at the door leading out of his apartment complex. He could see that she had fallen to pieces with tears. In an instant she had turned around and her expression had changed from one of devastated sorrow to one of fury. She was back at his door and in front of him in seconds. She began swinging her fists at his chest, cursing at him.

"Dammit House! Why! Why did you screw this up? We were doing so well. We could have been happy!"

For a second House let her beat at him, preferring the distraction that physical pain yielded, numbing his emotional pain ever so slightly. Then he came back to reality, and grabbed her wrists, holding them above her head.

"Stop, Cuddy! You just had surgery," House sounded angrier than he had meant to, but he was concerned that she had overexerted herself.

Cuddy collapsed against him in a fit of sobs. Slowly, House let go of her wrists, and her fingers immediately tangled in shirt, holding on for dear life. In an attempt to soothe her, his arms went around her; an old habit. As was their routine, she sunk into him, grateful for his strong, comforting chest. Not wanting to cause a scene with his neighbors, House pulled Cuddy inside his apartment and shut the door.

Before House had time to react, Cuddy angrily smashed her lips against his. Not only was she going to miss House and his brilliance, his quick wit, his annoying smirk, and that soothing voice that he reserved only for her when no one else was around; Cuddy was going to miss possessing his body. The night before she found blood in her urine was the last time that they had sex. If she had known that was going to be the last time she would have been able to run her fingers over his muscular chest and biceps, make him moan by straddling him, bite his earlobe, scratch his graying scalp, then she would have savored every second of it.

She wanted to devour him and she did not care about the consequences. She propelled herself into his arms, pushing him back against his couch. Impatient to feel her core against his, she wrapped her legs around his waist, almost_ wanting _to hurt him, to compensate for the way he had hurt her. Taken off guard, House stumbled against the back of the couch, his bad leg giving out, and the two of them slid to the floor. Cuddy was on his lap, possessing his mouth with her own. She spread her legs over his and rubbed herself against him. House groaned and closed his eyes, savoring their last moments of physical ecstasy together.

Hungrily, Cuddy wasted no time undoing the buttons to House's oxford, her mouth hot on his neck as her fingers went to work. She nipped at his neck in between kisses, wanted to leave marks there. She wanted him to have physical proof of her presence long after she was gone.

Desperate to feel her bare skin against his own, House greedily pulled Cuddy's grey sweatshirt over her head, and her tank top followed. He licked his lips when he discovered that she was not wearing a bra. Cuddy groaned as his stubbled mouth rubbed against her breasts. He too, would leave his mark there from his scratchy stubble. He rubbed his hands up and down the length of her body. God, she would miss those hands. His adroit musician's fingers that could rub and pet her most intimate places.

He shifted so that he was lying on top of her. His leg hurt but the pain was pushed to the recesses of his mind. Pleasuring Cuddy was at the forefront.

With all of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, House was overcome with sadness at the gravity of their breakup. Fighting for air, he choked out an "I'm sorry," as he forcefully entered her; channeling all of his hurt and pain into a physical manifestation. The sincere regret and utter defeat in his expression caused Cuddy's body to convulse in large, hard sobs. House stopped thrusting into her, not feeling right about taking advantage of her delicate emotional state.

"No, I need you," she commanded between shaky breaths as she placed her heels on his bum to drive him into her.

House's self control snapped at her admonition and he began thrusting into her hard. He could not believe that this would be the very last time he would hold his Cuddy in his arms; the last time he would feel her smooth skin under his strong muscles; the last time he would bring her to climax with him. It was too overwhelming for him. He bit into her shoulder and she dug her nails into his back as he drove them both over the edge. Loud gasps punctuated by sobs were the only sounds in the room. House lay over Cuddy possessively; his arms and legs trapping her under him in a cage, forbidding her to leave.

Cuddy noticed House's protective position over her and started sobbing even harder, realizing that his physical stance was a metaphor for the grip he had over her emotionally. She belonged to him. She always had, and she always would. Even though he caused her so much pain and devastation, there was no one else who was capable of making her so deliriously happy. There was no one else that she _belonged _to besides Gregory House.

House cradled a delirious Cuddy, gently picking her up from his hard wood floors into carrying her into his bedroom. He limped and stumbled down the hall the entire way. His leg was throbbing in agony, but no physical pain could outweigh the emotional hell he was going through. Cuddy clung to his neck for dear life, wetting his skin with her salty tears. He gently laid her down on his bed before settling in it himself. She had calmed down a bit, and the gaping scar on House's right leg caught her eye. Yet this brought on a fresh batch of tears; bringing to the surface years' worth of guilt and sorrow for his infarction.

Cuddy gently began to massage House's leg. He was in excruciating pain and too humbled by his earlier performance of begging her to stay to even dispute her nimble fingers working on his mutilated limb. Cuddy looked around on his nightstand, expecting to see half-empty Vicodin bottles. There were none in sight; in fact, she had not seen any throughout the apartment. What she did find was a bottle of ibuprofin, and the ever-present glass of water next to House's bed. She handed him three ibuprofin and then the water to chase it down with. Maybe his Vicodin relapse was a one-time thing afterall.

Cuddy's sobs had quieted to heavy breathing with tears rolling down her tired but beautiful face. House looked at her and wearily pulled her onto his lap, on the side of his good leg, and began stroking her hair. He loved the scent of the shampoo Cuddy used. One of his favorite things to do was just to run his fingers through her soft, chocolate-colored locks and inhale her girly perfume. God, would he miss that.

Slowly, the two of them shifted from sitting in an upright position to laying in a horizontal one. Cuddy drifted off to sleep, her head in the nook of House's neck and her arms wrapped around his chest, holding onto him for dear life. Before she completely dozed off, she could feel warm tears on her head, where House's eyes and mouth were kissing her scalp.

House did not sleep very soundly; and indeed, he was awoken by the sound of Cuddy in his living room, putting on her clothes that the two of them had so hastily wrenched off earlier in the day in those moments of great passion. He swiftly put on boxers and limped his way down the hall, pausing at the entrance to the living room area. House did not have the willpower to meet Cuddy's swollen, red eyes, afraid of the inevitable farewell. The breakup was about to be finalized.

"I was going to come and say goodbye," Cuddy said awkwardly, even though they both knew she was lying.

"Better say it then," House said with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Instead his statement came out sounding cold and distant.

This could not be the end. Gregory House had been the only man that Lisa Cuddy had ever really loved. He had been a constant feature of her entire adult life. Their history together went back to medical school! After more than ten years of dancing around each other at the hospital, and then _finally_ getting together and resolving all of the torturously pent up sexual tension, it could _not_ be over. It just couldn't. All those agonizing nights Cuddy had laid awake, wondering if House was thinking about her. All those mornings that she would feel a jolt run through her chest when she saw him enter her hospital. All of the bullshit that she put up with from him, because she truly did believe in him. Although he had trouble admitting it, House trusted that she was a powerful, determined woman and he really did respect her deep down, although his actions proved nothing but the contrary.

Yet they had made it so far as a couple. House was changing for the better, even if those changes for minute. If they ended it now, what did she have left? House, for good or for bad, was an integral part of Lisa Cuddy.

Nevertheless, Cuddy made a turn and headed for the door. House's heart dropped into his stomach and he felt dizzy.

"So this is the end, then? You're giving up on me?" House demanded, startling both Cuddy and himself with the desperate plea.

Cuddy quit walking but was unable to turn around and meet his eyes.

House just shook his head, and gave a little laugh about how shitty the situation was. "I wish you never would have given me a shot at happiness, Lisa Cuddy. Damn you. Now that I've known what it's like to live _with_ you, I know that I cannot live _without_ you."

Cuddy placed a hand over her mouth to cover her sobs. He was opening up to her, and his feelings were so similar to what she was feeling. Given his history, she truly believed him when he said "I cannot live _without _you."

Suddenly Cuddy's emotions completely overtook her and she threw all rationale aside. She knew that she would fall apart without him.

"Oh House!" she ran into his arms, and his mouth was on hers before she even had a chance to react.

"It's always going to be you," Cuddy stated, exasperated. "Dammit, I wish I didn't love you so much, you son of a bitch." There was no humour in her voice, just exhaustion.

House touched her cheek, wiping away a tear. "I _will _do better for you, Cuddy."

Cuddy helped House limp back down his hallway, towards his bedroom, neither of them truly believing his words.


End file.
